In the bottom of the Grand Canyon, on the Colorado River, 186 miles from the main put-in at Lee’s Ferry, the exposed rocks are 1.8 billion to 2 billion years old.

On a seven-day raft trip with my family in mid-September, I realized I could not get my mind around the concept of a billion years. I could observe the geological strata that were exposed by the river’s cutting edge over eons of time. I just could not understand, from the deepest part of my intellect, the concept of geological events that were a billion years old, some of which occurred over millions of years, and some of which occurred over the course of a few hours or a few days.

It was simply mind-bending.

Sleeping under the stars at night, knowing what little I do about astronomy, the age of the galaxies, and the age of the universe only increased my sense that I could not and should not try to intellectualize nature’s beginnings.

What I felt, instead, was more akin to faith — faith in God and in creation over the millennia. I marveled at the scientists who have spent their careers making some sense of the geological underpinnings of the greatest natural landmark in America. I felt a sense of humility — humbled by the sheer time frame over which the Grand Canyon was formed, and the magnitude of the events that transpired to provide us with a geological layer cake, a sort of gift to all who would be awed by its magnificence.

I was reminded of something we all know: We are here, in this place, for a short while. Our presence may seem insignificant relative to the history of time, but we are a part of this created world. History will also record our workings, every bit as much as it has recorded the geological events, through layers upon layers of rocks, in the Grand Canyon.

Just five days after departing the Grand Canyon, I was in an altogether different place: the gallery of the U.S. House of Representatives. I was there, with my son August, for Pope Francis’ address to the joint session of the House and the Senate. No pope had ever appeared in the hallowed halls of Congress, so history was being made before our very eyes.

There was some speculation that Congress should prepare for a lecture from the pope, particularly regarding climate change and the environment. The pope issued an encyclical in June 2015, Laudato Si, which called upon the world to enter into a dialogue about the impact that human activity is having on the natural sphere and the human sphere. The encyclical articulates a broad world view, including the pope’s vision for what is necessary for us to solve our worst environmental issues, including climate change, before the harshest impacts are visited upon the poorest of the poor around the globe.

As the pope delivered his remarks, it became clear that he was not there to lecture, or criticize, or condescend. Pope Francis spoke in the most humble and gracious manner. He offered powerful insights about the world we live in, about freedom, civil rights, social justice, immigration, the death penalty, and about being part of a global dialogue with our brothers and sisters everywhere.

I listened in awe to the profound message he was delivering in such a quiet and unassuming way. I began to sense that there were striking parallels in what a humble pope and a natural wonder like the Grand Canyon have in common.

They both taught me humility — the pope by example, the Grand Canyon by magnitude. In very different ways, they helped me understand that some things are much better understood by the heart than by the head. They both helped me see again that our lives should not be about short-term gains, but about how we impact this world over the long term, whether that is over millennia, or over a lifetime.

Sitting in the midst of the members of Congress, I thought about how Pope Francis and the Grand Canyon remind us that if what we care about most is the outcome of an election, or which party holds the majority, or how to best serve large-money donors who collectively contribute billions of dollars (a concept of a billion that I can understand), then we will disregard the most important things of life: the value of the natural sphere, the value of the human sphere, the intersection of the two, and our place in the created world.

When Pope Francis said, “The yardstick you use to measure others is the yardstick that time will use to measure you,” I thought how his words were not just words, but also rocks, and water, and canyon walls.

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